National Poetry Month: A Celebration
April is National Poetry Month. Launched by the Academy of American Poets in April 1996, National Poetry Month reminds us that poets play an integral role in our culture and that poetry matters.
During this unprecedented time in our lives, the Friends are holding an online celebration of National Poetry Month by adding a new poem or a quote from a poet to this page each day to remind us of the many ways that poetry can bring solace, strength, and joy in uncertain times.
A Dandelion for My Mother Jean Nordhaus How I loved those spiky suns, rooted stubborn as childhood in the grass, tough as the farmer’s big-headed children—the mats of yellow hair, the bowl-cut fringe. How sturdy they were and how slowly they turned themselves into galaxies, domes of ghost stars barely visible by day, pale cerebrums clinging to life on tough green stems. Like you. Like you, in the end. If you were here, I’d pluck this trembling globe to show how beautiful a thing can be a breath will tear away.
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.
The Music of Spring
M.W.
When the wind starts to whistle through the grass, I hear the tulips sing a little song. It makes me feel like I am a part of the Earth, so I start to sing along.
The birds join in and the grass keeps the beat, and our toes wiggle under beneath.
When the wind starts to rustle and the trees begin to dance, I imagine myself marching with the ants.
And that is a perfect Spring day.
God's World Edna St. Vincent Millay
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff! World, World, I cannot get thee close enough! Long have I known a glory in it all, But never knew I this; Here such a passion is As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year; My soul is all but out of me,—let fall No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Almost! Emily Dickinson Within my reach! I could have touched! I might have chanced that way! Soft sauntered through the village, Sauntered as soft away! So unsuspected violets Within the fields lie low, Too late for striving fingers That passed, an hour ago.
Invitation Shel Silverstein If you are a dreamer, come in, If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer … If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire For we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!
(from Where the Sidewalk Ends, © 1972, renewed 2002 by Evil Eye, LLC)
Chicken Meish Goldish Known for its feather and wings and legs, The chicken lays eggs and eggs and eggs! Known for the comb atop its crown, The chicken lays eggs of white and brown. Known for its strut when taking a walk, The chicken lays eggs! Ba-a-awk! Ba-a-awk!
I Opened a Book Julia Donaldson I opened a book and in I strode. Now nobody can find me. I’ve left my chair, my house, my road, My town and my world behind me. I’m wearing the cloak, I’ve slipped on the ring, I’ve swallowed the magic potion. I’ve fought with a dragon, dined with a king And dived in a bottomless ocean. I opened a book and made some friends. I shared their tears and laughter And followed their road with its bumps and bends To the happily ever after. I finished my book and out I came. The cloak can no longer hide me. My chair and my house are just the same, But I have a book inside me.
(From Crazy Mayonnaisy Mum, first published 2004 by Macmillan Children’s Books, an imprint of Macmillan Publishers International Limited. Text © Julia Donaldson 2004)
The Dog Ogden Nash The truth I do not stretch or shove When I state that the dog is full of love. I’ve also found, by actual test, A wet dog is the lovingest.
The Pasture Robert Frost I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I'll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too. I'm going out to fetch the little calf That's standing by the mother. It's so young, It totters when she licks it with her tongue. I sha'n't be gone long.—You come too.
A different kind of poetry for today: the poetry in motion that is the Knox County Public Library. The library’s physical doors have been closed since March 20, but it continues to find ways to serve our community day after day. Library staff members working from home have issued nearly 900 digital access library cards to people without an active library card, and library patrons have accessed thousands of materials online. (Numbers shown here are for March 20–April 8.) And thanks to KCPL’s Ask-a-Librarian service, patrons have been able to communicate with reference librarians through online chats, email, and text messages. Poetry in motion indeed!
Risk Anaïs Nin And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
It's all I have to bring today Emily Dickinson It's all I have to bring today— This, and my heart beside— This, and my heart, and all the fields— And all the meadows wide— Be sure you count—should I forget Some one the sum could tell— This, and my heart, and all the Bees Which in the Clover dwell.
My life has been the poem I would have writ But I could not both live and utter it. — Henry David Thoreau
April 17
Read to Me Jane Yolen Read to me riddles and read to me rhymes Read to me stories of magical times Read to me tales about castles and kings Read to me stories of fabulous things Read to me pirates and read to me knights Read to me dragons and dragon-book fights Read to me spaceships and cowboys and then When you are finished — please read them again.
Summer Stars Carl Sandburg Bend low again, night of summer stars. So near you are, sky of summer stars, So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars, Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl, So near you are, summer stars, So near, strumming, strumming, So lazy and hum-strumming.
Poet's Tree Shel Silverstein Underneath the poet tree, Come and rest awhile with me, And watch the way the word-web weaves Between the shady story leaves. The branches of the poet tree Reach from the mountains to the sea. So come and dream, or come and climb — Just don’t get hit by falling rhymes.
Enchantment Jane Yolen Stack by stack, shelf by shelf, I pick out books all by myself. Page by page, line by line, word by word, I make books mine. With a wave of a card like a wizard’s right hand— and an alphabet-alchemy, life is just grand.
A POEM FOR MY LIBRARIAN, MRS. LONG (You never know what troubled little girl needs a book) Nikki Giovanni At a time when there was not tv before 3:00 P.M. And on Sunday none until 5:00 We sat on the front porches watching The jfg sign go on and off greeting The neighbors, discussion the political Situation congratulating the preacher On his sermon There was always the radio which brought us Songs from wlac in nashville and what we would now call Easy listening or smooth jazz but when I listened Late at night with my portable (that I was so proud of) Tucked under my pillow I heard nat king cole and matt dennis, june christy and ella fitzgerald And sometimes sarah vaughan sing black coffee Which I now drink It was just called music There was a bookstore uptown on gay street Which I visited and inhaled that wonderful odor Of new books Even today I read hardcover as a preference paperback only As a last resort And up the hill on vine street (The main black corridor) sat our carnegie library Mrs. Long always glad to see you The stereoscope always ready to show you faraway Places to dream about Mrs. Long asking what are you looking for today When I wanted Leaves of Grass or alfred north whitehead She would go to the big library uptown and I now know Hat in hand to ask to borrow so that I might borrow Probably they said something humiliating since southern Whites like to humiliate southern blacks But she nonetheless brought the books Back and I held them to my chest Close to my heart And happily skipped back to grandmother’s house Where I would sit on the front porch In a gray glider and dream of a world Far away I love the world where I was I was safe and warm and grandmother gave me neck kissed When I was on my way to bed But there was a world Somewhere Out there And Mrs. Long opened that wardrobe But no lions or witches scared me I went through Knowing there would be Spring (from Acolytes, © 2007)
The Purple Cow Gelett Burgess I never saw a Purple Cow, I never hope to see one, But I can tell you, anyhow, I’d rather see than be one!
The Rose Family Robert Frost The rose is a rose, And was always a rose. But the theory now goes That the apple’s a rose, And the pear is, and so’s The plum, I suppose. The dear only knows What will next prove a rose. You, of course, are a rose — But were always a rose.
Because Nikki Giovanni I wrote a poem for you because you are my little boy I wrote a poem for you because you are my darling daughter and in this poem I sang a song that says as time goes on I am you and you are me and that’s how life goes on
The Peace of Things Wendell Berry When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
Church Jacqueline Woodson On Sundays, the preacher gives everyone a chance to repent their sins. Miss Edna makes me go to church. She wears a bright hat I wear my suit. Babies dress in lace. Girls my age, some pretty, some not so pretty. Old ladies and men nodding. Miss Edna every now and then throwing her hand in the air. Saying Yes, Lord and Preach! I sneak a pen from my back pocket, bend down low like I dropped something. The chorus marches up behind the preacher clapping and humming and getting ready to sing. I write the word HOPE on my hand.
Dreams Langston Hughes
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.On a Tree Fallen Across the Road Robert Frost
(To hear us talk) The tree the tempest with a crash of wood Throws down in front of us is not to bar Our passage to our journey’s end for good, But just to ask us who we think we are Insisting always on our own way so. She likes to halt us in our runner tracks, And make us get down in a foot of snow Debating what to do without an ax. And yet she knows obstruction is in vain: We will not be put off the final goal We have it hidden in us to attain, Not though we have to seize earth by the pole And, tired of aimless circling in one place, Steer straight off after something into space.
Knoxville, Tennessee Nikki Giovanni I always like summer best you can eat fresh corn from daddy's garden and okra and greens and cabbage and lots of barbecue and buttermilk and homemade ice-cream at the church picnic and listen to gospel music outside at the church homecoming and go to the mountains with your grandmother and go barefooted and be warm all the time not only when you go to bed and sleep
(“Knoxville, Tennessee” from Black Feeling, Black Talk, Black Judgment by Nikki Giovanni. Copyright © 1968, 1970 by Nikki Giovanni
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